


Suffer in Silence

by lanestreets



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, Flashbacks, M/M, Nightmares, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:15:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14859530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanestreets/pseuds/lanestreets
Summary: Five times Steve Rogers was in pain, and one time he finally wasn't.





	1. Serum

**Author's Note:**

> the first few chapters of this are steve recounting things that have happened to him in the past, and the last few are him living through them. a look at how steve's past affected him and how it still is.

It’s not often that the Avengers get a definite night off, but when they do, they know how to make use of it. 

Natasha can drink Clint and Tony under the table, but the two of them seem to collectively forget this every single time that they get together, which is how, repetitively, Steve watches them go shot for shot with Nat like college students, until someone has to carry them to bed and the rest of them have to deal with the inevitable hangover crankiness the next day. 

It is both a process, and a test of Steve’s patience. But he lets it happen every time, because Tony always looks happy when he’s joking around and locked into friendly competition with their teammates, and Clint always seems a little more relaxed like this. He makes sure that no one gets alcohol poisoning, and lets it happen. Nothing really bad has ever come out of it, except a couple of exceptionally bad hangovers and the one time Clint threw up in a potted plant by accident. 

Until. 

One night, Nat decides to go easy on the poor saps, so they’re only moderately wasted, instead of unable to stand on their own, and apparently moderately wasted Tony has a distinct lack of filter, even more so than sober Tony.

“So Cap,” Tony slurs, turning to to face Steve, his drink sloshing dangerously in his hand. Nat reaches out and carefully plucks it from his hand, downs it in one gulp, and sets the glass on the table. Tony looks put out, but he doesn’t do more than grumble unhappily. “Mon Capitaine, Venti Americano, Cap’n Crunch. You’ve never told us.”

Nat puts a hand to her face to cover up a laugh. Clint scrunches up his face while he tries to understand what Tony means. 

Steve decides to indulge him. “Never told you what?”

“You know. That.” Tony gestures vaguely at Steve’s entire body. 

Thor chuckles. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.  

“What about me, Tony?” Steve prods, wanting to know what Tony’s getting at. 

“You. You never talk about you. ‘Specially about getting the super-jacked juice from my dad. What was it like, bein’ tiny and then bein’ a giant?” Tony asks finally. 

Steve tenses. He bites back the urge to just snap, ‘painful’, and leave for his personal floor of the tower. 

Instead, he takes a breath, and laces his fingers together, dropping his hands into his lap and trying very hard not to break his own fingers. 

“Disorienting,” is what he ends up going for, because it was. It was wildly baffling and unsettling and frustrating to have to relearn how to use his own body. “I was sick my whole life, could barely go faster than a brisk walk cause my asthma was so bad, and then suddenly I was a super soldier. The first time I went anywhere on my own two feet after that, I put myself through the front window of a store and dented a car chasing down a nazi, because I just had no idea how to control myself. The added bulk would’ve been crazy enough, but I was also running at the same speed as a car can drive, so that didn’t help,” he tries to joke, but he’s sure his expression is tight and drawn. He knows Nat notices, from the way she focuses in on him, sharp and assessing even through the vodka-induced haze behind her eyes. Even a few shots of strong alcohol isn’t enough to turn off the Widow in her, he guesses. Her and Clint seem to share that trait, among many others. Even off the clock, they are never not working. Steve supposes he understands what it feels like. He’s never not a soldier, after all. 

Steve has a few blessed moment of thinking that that will be it, that Tony’s done with his questions and he’ll move on to something else. 

But Tony’s curiosity, as it always seems to do, has sparked Bruce’s. Steve’s not out of the woods on this one, just yet. 

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” Bruce says, and Steve really, really does mind, he minds so fucking much, but he just shrugs, and doesn’t protest. “What was the procedure that you went through like? I’ve read a few of Dr. Erskine’s notes, his papers, but most things about you are sealed tight.”

Right, Steve remembers then. Bruce is… a failed version of him. A misstep in trying to recreate what Erskine had done to him. Steve’s success is the reason the Hulk exists. Something twists in Steve’s chest at that. He knows it’s not his fault, he was frozen, he had no hand in anyone attempting to recreate the serum, but he can’t help but feel partially responsible for what happened to Bruce. He shoves that to the back of his mind. 

He can’t stop himself from saying the first thing that pops into his mind this time though. 

“Painful,” he says. “All I really remember was that it hurt. A lot. Everything about me, right down to my cells was changing. They pumped me full of blue stuff and locked me in a box and then all I remember was hearing someone screaming, and not realizing it was me until Peggy wanted them to shut it down because they thought it was killing me. It felt like it was. It felt like dying, at the time. Found out later what that felt like for real, and it was so much worse, but then, I felt like I was dying. Like I was being ripped apart and--” Steve cuts himself off very abruptly, jerking his head up to look at the others in the room. 

He mutters a curse under his breath, which sets Tony giggling, “Woah, language, Cap.” 

The others are all staring at him, Nat with thinly veiled concern, Bruce and Clint with open horror, and Thor with something more contemplative that Steve can’t make himself analyze right now, because he feels like his head’s been set spinning. He never should’ve revealed so much, he shouldn’t be dumping so much on his new friends, not when he knows that they all have their own demons to wrestle. 

“Sorry. I think I must be pretty worn out. Old man and all that. I’m going to head up to bed, I think.”

“Steve,” Natasha says softly, and Steve just gives her a tight smile and shakes his head. 

“It was a long time ago, Natasha. I just haven’t spoken about it before. Don’t worry about me. Worry about getting Tony and Clint to bed before someone vomits in a plant again. Don’t want to go upsetting Pepper,” he jokes, fighting off a wince when it falls flat. “Good night, guys.”

And then Steve stands from his place on the end of the couch, subtly chosen for its view of the room and exit points, and slowly flees the room. 

He doesn’t fall asleep until well into the morning that night, and when he finally does, his sleep is plagued with memories of being set alight and burned down to his very core and then being melted back together again, cell by cell. 

He wakes up screaming, and now, he’s very aware that it’s him making that noise.


	2. Bucky

It’s a few months later when Thor finds Steve in the kitchen in the tower’s common area at two in the morning, watching with dull eyes as the electric kettle boils and shuts itself off. 

Contrary to popular belief, Steve’s not afraid of technology, or completely baffled by it. He’s impressed and a little confused, sure, but he just needs a little bit to get used to each new thing that gets introduced to him. Throwing a mess of things at him all at once makes it exactly that, a mess, but it’s not overwhelming because he can’t understand it, it’s overwhelming because there’s just so fucking much of it. Steve wishes that more people understood that particular detail about him. It’s kind of starting to piss him off, and it’s occasionally a point of contention between him and Tony, the way Tony uses technology so liberally, even when it’s  not necessary, while Steve prefers to stick to the basics. 

He has to admit though, the cell phone? He likes that a lot, even if most of its features are utterly useless and time consuming, he likes that one.

Thor takes a seat at the kitchen island behind him and Steve startles out of his sleep-deprivation induced thought spiral. He pours the boiling water over a tea bag and makes a vague gesture and an accompanying noise to offer some to Thor as well. 

Thor nods an affirmative, and Steve takes a second mug down from the cabinet and adds a teabag, passing it over to Thor when he’s done. Then he places his own on the island in front of him, and stares at the steam rising from the ceramic, and makes no move to drink from it at all. 

What had even compelled him to make tea in the first place? He doesn’t actually want this. He takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose briefly and then braces his hands on the counter on either side of his mug, and stares some more. 

“Captain,” Thor says quietly, which is odd coming from the normally booming god of thunder. 

Steve shakes his head. “Just Steve. There’s no need for that,” he says, his voice coming out more strained than he’d like it to. 

“Steve. Are you alright? None of our companions are wandering about at this hour. Why are you?”

First of all, Steve doubts they’re the only two awake. On any given night, there’s a sixty percent chance that Tony’s up late or early in his lab, another forty percent chance that Bruce has joined him, and a seventy percent chance that Natasha and Clint are either in one of their rooms together or otherwise occupying themselves in the early hours while the world around them sleeps. 

There’s a one hundred percent chance that Steve will get up in the middle of the night every night and do a sweep of the tower, make sure that all of its occupants are safe and secure. It’s a habit. He has to do it, otherwise he’ll get no sleep at all, and he’s already running on fumes as it is. 

Second of all, Thor’s up too. What’s he doing asking Steve why he’s awake?

“You’re awake too. Not like I’m the only one,” Steve snaps back, petulant, like a child. God he really needs to sleep. He’s getting cranky, like the old man that he is. 

“Yes, my friend, I am. I am not human as you are. I do not need as much rest as you do,” Thor explains, and okay, that makes sense. He is a literal god. Steve wishes he could operate like that. “What keeps you awake? Are you feeling ill?”

Steve shakes his head, and continues to stare at his mug, watching, and watching, and watching, until the mug turns tepid and the steam disappears. He must stare for too long, because he feels something brush against his forearm and he jerks away from it, looking around for danger, only to find that it’s just Thor, reaching across the island. 

“Are you alright?” Thor asks, watching him carefully.

Steve forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes and nods. “Yeah. Sorry. Just a little jumpy, I guess.” He tries for a laugh, but it comes out way too self-deprecating and Steve sighs. “It’s just nightmares, from before I went under. The war and everything. They set me on edge sometimes. It’s no big deal.”

“All great warriors suffer like this. It is inevitable, when you see the sorts of things we see,” Thor muses, draining his mug with a grimace. Steve wonders why he accepted the offer if he doesn’t like tea. He also wonders if Thor means that he has the nightmares too, the kind that leave you sweaty and heaving and wondering if you really are where you think you are. “Would you tell me about it? What keeps you awake tonight?”

Steve, probably because of how tired he is, lets out a slow breath and does. “When I was alive, before. Before I froze. I had a friend. His name was Bucky. We grew up together, and he enlisted before I did, before I was… this.” Steve shakes his head. “He’s the reason I was able to lead men at all. I was like a dancing monkey until I learned his unit got captured, and decided to blow protocol to hell and go after him. I took on an entire base by myself to get him and his men out. And I got him back, and it was great, the two of us, side by side, taking down nazis, keeping people safe. 

“And then one mission we ran… it went sideways. Some weapon that HYDRA made with the tesseract blew the side of the train we were on wide open. Buck picked up my shield and he got hit and it knocked him clear out of the train. I couldn’t get to him in time. He fell, from the train, down a goddamn cliff. And I just had to watch and… seventy years on ice and I still hear him screaming when I go to sleep. That’s why I’m awake tonight.”

Steve picks up his mug and sips from it for something to do. He goes to set it back down on the counter, and he’s not paying enough attention to his surroundings or his strength, apparently, because when he puts it back down, he does it hard enough to shatter the mug. 

“Ah, hell,” he mutters, and begins picking up the shards of ceramic that he’s created, mumbling to himself about being reckless, and then worrying about the puddle that’s formed on the counter, dripping onto the floor and he, in his distraction, nearly puts his hand down on a jagged shard sticking straight upright on the counter. 

He steps back to take a breath, and is surprised to find Thor at his side. 

“I can take care of the mess. Go to bed. You need the rest,” Thor says, impossibly gentle. 

Steve goes. 


	3. Dying

Steve’s nightmares don’t get better. 

They ease up sometimes, but they don’t get better. He starts working for SHIELD with Natasha and Clint, and having something to do all the time, not just when the world is ending, helps a little bit. It keeps his mind busy, but then the missions get worse, and all it does is add to the material his brain likes to throw at him while he tries to sleep. 

He moves to Washington DC, and he works and he tries to sleep and he works and he runs and he runs and he runs. 

He makes a friend. He hears Sam talking to his group about PTSD. He tries very hard not to think about how much he relates to them all. 

He finds out Bucky is still alive and what’s left of his heart freezes over at the sight and shatters when Bucky doesn’t recognize him. 

He and Sam go after Bucky. 

Ultron happens. 

Steve moves to the upstate compound, and brings Sam with him.

Steve still can’t fucking sleep. 

Thor offers a solution. 

An Asgardian tonic that his mother used to make when he was young and he or his brother were having trouble sleeping. It’s easy enough to make, but it smells like death. Steve’s willing to give just about anything a shot. Working himself to the point of exhaustion just so he can pass out and then waking up with his heart hammering in his chest and the ghost of scream haunting just behind his teeth is sort of getting really goddamn old. He just wants a decent night’s sleep. Just one. 

Thor recommends trying a small dose, to make sure he won’t have an adverse reaction to it, he isn’t entirely indestructible, after all. Thor says he will make sure he is safe and Steve reluctantly agrees, and takes a sip. 

It tastes worse than it smells. 

But fuck, does it work. Steve barely makes it to a flat surface before he passes out, falling into deep sleep in minutes. 

The tonic works to get  him to sleep. 

What it does not help is the nightmares. 

Those still happen. 

Unfortunate. 

More unfortunate?

The fact that Steve can’t wake up.

He can tell he’s dreaming, which is unusual, but he can’t control anything happening to him in the dream, plunged into a hellscape he really doesn’t want to be revisiting. 

He can hear Peggy’s voice echoing around him, calling his name out, but he can’t answer because the comms have just cut out because he’s just plunged the Valkyrie nose first into the frozen depths of the Arctic, and he did it to save the world from an organization bent on wiping that out, and wouldn’t you know it, he died for almost nothing. Sure he stopped the bombs and that was necessary to keep people safe, but his death did nothing to stop HYDRA, they built themselves up into SHIELD anyway, they took all of Peggy’s hard work and perverted it for their own sick means and they took Bucky and they made him something he’s not, they made him a murderer and Steve’s freezing, he’s dying and god, he just wants to wake up. 

When it really happened, the impact of the crash knocked him out, and he was unconscious for most of the process of slowly freezing to death. He remembers floating in and out of awareness, occasionally becoming acutely aware of the fact that over half his body was encased in ice, and it was only the serum keeping him alive in any capacity, keeping his limbs still functional. He was aware, and not entirely pleased. He remembers, the third or fourth time he was dragged back into some sort of waking space, that he had begun praying to die already, because he knew it was inevitable, and he was tired of suffering. 

In this dream, he doesn’t get the brief reprieve of occasional bouts of unconsciousness. He’s aware of his body freezing and his heart all but stopping in the strange half-living way it had gone on for nearly seven decades and he is aware of pain, pain, pain. 

He thinks he screams, but he’s not really sure and he doesn’t really care because even though he knows this is a dream, and he knows he’s not dying again, knows he’s not in any real pain, but it feels like it. 

Not being able to wake up and being stuck in this dream makes it feel like dying all over again and Steve just wants it to stop, he wants it to be over, he wants to wake up, he wants to wake up, he wants to wake up.

It feels like a lifetime and a day before he does. 

He jolts awake with a strangled screech dying on his lips and someone touching him. 

Someone’s touching him? 

That’s not good. He doesn’t want that. He jerks away from the touch violently, toppling himself off of whatever he was laying on and onto the floor, scrambling to his feet. He probably looks ridiculous, but that’s not really something at the forefront of his mind at the moment. 

“Steve,” Thor says, and Steve finally realizes that Thor was the one touching him. Thor, who is now standing in front of him looking very concerned. “Steve, are you alright? You seemed in distress.”

Steve wants to shout at him, because yeah! He was! He was in a lot of distress and it sucked! 

But then he reigns that impulse back, because Thor doesn’t know and he was only trying to help, he wasn’t doing anything to hurt Steve, he was just doing his best. 

Steve’s shivering. He thinks if he tries to speak, his teeth will chatter too much for him to get anything out anyway. 

It’s almost eighty degrees outside, and it’s comfortable in the compound. He has no reason to be so cold. 

He tries to subtly wrap his arms around himself. 

“Steven, what happened?”

Steve shakes his head and takes a few shuddering breaths before he even tries to speak. He surprises himself with how level his voice is. 

“Couldn’t wake up. It put me under and I started… I was dying again, and I couldn’t wake up.” A chill runs up his spine. “Thank you for trying, but I don’t think I’ll be taking that tonic again.”

He turns on his heel and goes to leave the room, to flee to his personal quarters because he is freezing and terrified and he just wants to break down about it in peace. 

“Steve, wait,” he hears Thor call after him. 

It makes his heart twist in his chest, but he ignores it, and runs anyway.


	4. Peggy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> deals with a canon character death.   
> the end of aou and all of civil war? i don't know them.

Steve knows that it was inevitable. 

He knows it, and he still can’t believe it, when he gets the text.

Peggy’s gone. 

Peacefully. 

In her sleep.

Gone.

Gone. 

Gone.

Steve feels like his entire world has just come crashing down around his shoulders. 

It’s selfish as hell, but all he can think of is ‘how could she leave me?’. 

They’re in the middle of a team dinner, trying to boost morale after a mission that went a little sideways, but as soon as he gets the text, Steve freezes, stares at his phone screen for a few moments, and then quietly excuses himself. 

He flees the room, and takes a few moments to collect himself. 

Not moments, really. 

He takes a couple hours to collect himself, if he’s going to be honest about it. 

His hands are still shaking when he emerges, but his face isn’t so red anymore, so he stuffs his hands in his pockets and heads out of his quarters anyway. He needs to tell someone that he’s flying to England to help Peggy’s family plan the funeral. No, not just someone. He needs to tell Tony and Nat, because they’re the ones who will keep the team running in his absence. He has to tell Tony and Nat. 

Tell Tony and Nat. 

Tell Tony and Nat.

He repeats it to himself the entire way from his quarters to the living room that most of the team have gathered in. If he focuses himself on this task, then he won’t think of the fact that Peggy’s dead and that he didn’t even get to say a proper goodbye and now his only tie to his past is his old friend who is running around maybe still killing people and maybe still under the influence of a bunch of nazi terrorists. 

He’s not thinking about it. He’s not.

(He is. He’s thinking about it a lot.)

“Tasha,” he says, and his voice is raw and ragged and run through, and he  _ never _ calls her Tasha, that’s Clint’s name for her, but it slips out and he can’t stop it, and the look she gives him breaks his heart even more. 

“Steve, what happened?” she asks, standing and placing a gentle hand on his forearm. 

Everyone’s focused their attention on the two of them now, and Steve drags a hand over his face, as though he can drag away the absolutely wrecked expression he’s sure he’s sporting. 

“I-- She-- Peggy. It’s Peggy. She died last night. Peg’s dead,” Steve rasps, setting his jaw and making his face go carefully blank. “I’ve gotta go to London for a few days, get together with her family and help them out however I can. I’ll be back as soon as possible. I wanted you and Tony to know, so I didn’t just disappear on you.” By some miracle his voice doesn’t waver as he speaks, though it is gravelly and wrong sounding. 

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” Nat says and Steve waves her off, plasters a painfully false smile onto his face. 

“I’ve known this was coming for a long time. She passed peacefully. That’s all I could’ve asked for. I just need to be there for her family, they deserve that.”

He ducks out of the room then, choking back his emotions until he’s behind a locked door. 

Tony arranges a flight for him before Steve can even think about doing so himself.

Sam knocks on his door the next morning, a packed bag in hand, and informs Steve that he’ll be tagging along, and that Steve can’t do anything to stop him. 

Steve’s too tired to even try, but he doesn’t say that. He just gives Sam a small smile and they head out. 

It’s the hardest three days of his entire life. 

He does not let it show. 

They ask him to be a pallbearer. He agrees. This was a mistake. 

They ask him to say a few words. He agrees. This was a mistake. 

They ask him to stay for dinner. He agrees. This was a mistake. 

He’s barely holding himself together by the time the funeral’s over. Sam stays silently by his side, and Steve’s thankful for the steady presence. He doesn’t think he could do this on his own. 

Nat strides down the center aisle of the church as soon as the funeral service is over and the crowd has cleared out. Steve couldn’t bring himself to go with them. 

“That was a lovely service. You were very well spoken,” she compliments. Steve nods in acknowledgement. “Let’s get you home, huh? Rest on the flight back, and when we get back, Sam and I’ll kick your ass in some sparring.”

Steve sees it for what it is. An out. An outlet for all of the emotions he’s got pent up from the past few days. She’s offering so he doesn’t have to ask himself, because they both know that he never would. 

He nods, and lets the two of them guide him out to a car that’s waiting and Nat drives them to the airport, and there’s a Stark private jet waiting to take them back to the compound. 

Steve doesn’t make the comment he normally would, if he were in better spirits. 

That evening, back in the upstate compound, he puts a hole in three different punching bags and very nearly dislocates Nat’s shoulder by accident. She doesn’t blame him, doesn’t even get mad, but it sends Steve reeling, and he retreats to his quarters immediately, apologizing profusely. 

He showers until he’s scrubbed his skin raw, too many unwelcome images flashing behind his eyelids whenever he shuts them. He doesn’t know when the tears start falling, but they do, and they’re still evident in his red rimmed eyes and the puffiness underneath them when he exits his bathroom to find Nat and Sam sitting on the edge of his bed, heads bent in quiet conversation. 

They pay no attention to him as he slips on a pair of sweatpants, and sits next to Nat. 

They pay him no mind as he lilts to the side, his head coming to rest on Nat’s shoulder in a position that’s really not all that comfortable. 

They pay him no mind as a few stray tears stain his cheeks once again. 

They sit like that for a long time, until Nat gives up and shifts into the bed, sitting against the headboard and tugging at Steve until his head is resting in her lap and she is carding her fingers through his hair and murmuring something in Russian. He thinks she might be half-singing a Russian lullaby, but he’s not too sure. He’s not going to ask. 

He drifts off like that, and when he wakes, he’s got his arms around Nat’s waist, his head still pillowed in her lap, her arm still curled protectively around his shoulders, and there’s a note from Sam on the nightstand saying he’ll listen if Steve wants to talk. 

It’s a very nice gesture from the two of them, but Steve gets up and gets ready as soon as he wakes up, and discards the note, and goes on through his day with a hole in his chest that spells out Peggy Carter’s name. He doesn’t want to burden anyone else with that more than he already has. 


	5. Soldier

They find Bucky. 

Steve and Sam find Bucky after months and months and months of searching, and Steve is elated. 

They’ve found him. He has his best friend back. 

He’s finally not so alone here anymore. 

And then they get back to the compound. 

When it had just been the two of them and Sam, Bucky had been a little tense, glancing over his shoulder all the time, and watching Sam carefully. But then he’d apologized for tearing off the wing from Sam’s suit when they’d fought at the Triskelion, and he had let Sam joke about it and he had smiled and Steve had hoped. 

He should have known better than to hope. 

The second they’re back in the compound, Bucky’s entire body goes rigid, like every single one of his muscles has seized up all at once, just from setting foot over the threshold. 

Steve’s heart plummets into his stomach. 

Sam’s mouth twists into something of a frown. 

Bucky doesn’t pay a lick of attention to either of them, too focused on scanning the room for the several new perceived threats. 

He doesn’t relax for weeks, and even then, it’s not a very easy thing to be in Bucky’s presence. But still, with each passing day, more and more of the man that Steve used to know is peeking through the layers of hurt and fear and distrust, and Steve’s getting his best friend back, finally, so he copes with all of the other parts of it. 

He copes with the nightmares. 

As much as Steve likes to tell the others that his own nightmares have gotten better the longer he’s been off ice, he’s been lying to them. Now, it’s not just his own nightmares that keep him up. 

Bucky has nightmares that have him screaming himself awake almost nightly. 

Steve’s exhausted, getting up to help calm him down every single time it happens, but still, when he wakes up on a Wednesday night immediately after a thoroughly draining mission, and hears Bucky crying out, he doesn’t hesitate to sprint across the hall. 

Bucky’s not even awake when he gets there and puts one knee on the edge of the bed, so he can half sit down to wake Bucky himself. 

“Hey, Buck, come on, wake up pal. It’s just a dream, you’re okay. You’re safe,” Steve mutters sleepily. Usually Bucky just needs a little prodding awake and to sit there until he’s certain he’s safe and then Steve can return to his own room to sleep until his own nightmares wake him in the early hours of the morning. He reaches out a hand to place on Bucky’s shoulder, the one not marred by metal. 

This, it turns out, is a horrible mistake. 

At the barest brush of Steve’s fingers, Bucky jerks awake, grabbing Steve’s wrist and twisting  _ hard _ , and very suddenly, Steve is face down on the mattress. Bucky wrenches Steve’s arm behind his back and Steve swears he hears a pop and his shoulder feels like it’s on fire and he can’t move because of the grip Bucky has on him but the only thing he can think about is the fact that Bucky’s hissing at him in  _ Russian _ . 

Steve doesn’t know what he’s saying but it sounds like some twisted mess of angry and scared and Steve doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to do, he doesn’t know how to help, and the pain in his shoulder is beginning to cloud his thoughts and when Bucky shifts his arm just the wrong way, Steve reacts on instinct, without any sort of regard for the situation. He bucks upwards and tosses Bucky off of him and onto the floor, and scrambles to right himself so he can face Bucky again. 

But when he turns, Bucky’s not charging him like he was expecting. 

Bucky’s just sitting there, staring up at Steve in horror, his eyes fixed on the way Steve’s left arm is hanging from his shoulder in a way that is definitely, definitely not normal. 

Steve pays that no mind, instead taking a single, small, tentative step towards Bucky. 

Bucky flinches away and Steve feels like he’s been hit by a truck.  

“I’m sorry,” Bucky mutters, pushing himself onto his knees, hands in fists on top of his thighs. 

“You can understand me? You’re good with the English?” Steve asks, just to be sure. 

Bucky nods sharply. “Da. Yes. I understand. I am sorry. I did not mean to speak in the wrong language, sir, I was confused when I woke up,” Bucky says, and Steve thinks that maybe the truck has backed up over him and hit him again, just to be spiteful. 

This isn’t the first time this has happened, but it’s the first time it’s taken this long for Bucky to come out of it. 

“Where do you think you are?” Steve asks, to see if there’s anything he can work with. 

“American soil. That’s all I know. You’re… Are you meant to be my new handler?” Bucky asks, quiet, like he thinks just this simple question is stepping over a line. 

Steve shakes his head, and Bucky’s expression falls, and he scrambles to apologize before Steve cuts him off. 

“You are on American soil. But it’s not that. It’s me. Bucky, it’s me, Steve. Remember? You’re at the Avengers compound. Sam and I found you and brought you here. It’s not… you’re not with them anymore. You just had a nightmare. You’re in the compound with me, you’re safe. Please tell me you remember. Come on Buck, you’ve gotta remember,” Steve says, and he’s damn near on the verge of tears, seeing Bucky like this. 

It takes another few minutes of coaxing and gentle encouragement, but realization finally dawns on Bucky’s face, followed quickly by abject horror when he catches sight of Steve’s arm. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve, I… I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to--”

“I know you didn’t mean it, Buck. Wasn’t you. It’s alright. Just try to get some more sleep, okay?”

“Wait, Steve!” Bucky calls after him, but Steve’s already fled the room, heading for the common area because his own room is still too close. 

He doesn’t think he would be able to get any more sleep tonight if he tried, anyway. 

It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He always is.


	6. +1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we ignore and disrespect most of aou, civil war and infinity war, because it's convenient.   
> this directly follows the last chapter. it's kinda short, but here's someone finally getting to be there for steve.  
> thank you all for reading!

He’s paying so little attention to his surroundings that he doesn’t realize that there’s someone else in the living room with him until they’re right next to him. 

Steve flinches hard enough to jostle his arm and he has to bite back a strangled scream at the pain that lances through his chest because of that. 

“Steve, what happened?” Thor asks, carefully taking a seat on Steve’s left, looking in concern at his shoulder. 

Steve’s decided it’s definitely dislocated, and he really, really needs to fix that, but he hasn’t been able to make himself move. 

“Bucky had a nightmare, he came out of it a little wild. It’s nothing.” 

He doesn’t want Thor to worry. He doesn’t want anyone to worry about him, he hates the idea of burdening other people with his issues. But it’s not nothing. It hurts. A lot. 

“Steve,” Thor says, and Steve finally, after years of pushing and pushing and pushing everything down, breaks. 

There are tears shining in his eyes when he ducks his head and softly gasps out, “My shoulder’s dislocated. Can you please-- I-- Please help,” Steve finally says, no idea what to really say, how to ask for what he really wants. The shoulder’s a start, at least, he supposes. 

Thor’s smile is very sad, but he nods, and helps Steve reset his shoulder. He’s as gentle as he can be, but Steve still grunts in pain and clenches his jaw hard enough that he thinks he might actually crack his teeth. 

“Steve,” Thor says softly, once he’s gotten Steve’s shoulder back in place and taken care of. He hesitates a moment after that, but in the end, he places a hand on Steve’s neck, and runs his thumb almost reverently up the line of Steve’s jaw. “Are you okay? Be honest with me, please.”

Steve leans into Thor’s touch and shakes his head just enough for Thor to feel it. “Bucky woke up and he was… he couldn’t speak English and he didn’t know where he was, and it was just--”

“While I feel terrible for how your friend is suffering, I did not ask about him. I asked about you, Steve,” Thor interrupts, without it seeming rude. 

Steve shakes his head again and sags a little bit at the admission, and Thor tugs him just a bit closer and Steve lets it happen. 

Thor actually makes Steve feel a little small when he wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders. Steve can’t say that he minds it. 

“I’m not okay,” Steve finally whispers. “I’m not. I’m not sleeping, and I’m stressed about Bucky, and I really don’t think I ever got a chance to deal with Peggy’s death, and with Bucky back now, I’ve been having flashbacks to the war more than I used to and I just… sorry. Didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t you dare apologize Steven,” Thor says, and Steve shuts up. “You spend so much time looking out for us all, and trying to take care of us. Let someone look after you for once. If you need to talk, then talk. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to hear it.”

So Steve continues to talk. 

And talk.

And talk.

He falls asleep slumped into Thor’s side. 

He stirs a little bit, when he feels someone moving him, and swears that he feels lips press to his forehead. 

When he wakes up, he’s in his bed, and Thor is curled up next to him. Thor’s arm is draped over Steve’s middle and his nose is pressed to Steve’s shoulder. Steve smiles, and falls back asleep. 

He wakes well into the morning, having slept without any kind of nightmares for the first time in years. 

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @ _[deafclintbartn](http://deafclintbartn.tumblr.com/)_ , come talk to me!


End file.
